


All I Have To Do Is Dream

by sunshinestealer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 1950s, 1950s aesthetic, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Small Town, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:38:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3416159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinestealer/pseuds/sunshinestealer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the 1950s, and Jane Crocker arrives in small town Mississippi, having led a nomadic lifestyle all around the United States with her showman father. Roxy Lalonde is a military brat from New York. Both girls form a friendship and discuss their dreams, against the backdrop of a changing society.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Welcome to Devil’s Wharf High School, Miss Crocker, class of 1958.” 

Jane peered over her laminated schedule at the chirpy principal's assistant. She had been sat in the reception room of the head office for twenty minutes, according to her wristwatch, and was almost beginning to wonder if she had been forgotten. With nothing in the drab room to occupy her interest, she had taken to trying to memorize her timetable. Thankfully, it had already been highlighted. In all her years of moving around the country, this was the first school she’d attended that had a two week system in place. It was going to take some getting used to.  

“Oh, uh, good morning, and thank you, Miss…?” Jane replied, trying her best to copy her accent, which was just dripping with Southern hospitality. While travelling around, she and her father had stayed mostly below the Mason-Dixie line, despite being a transplant from the Pacific Northwest, and had picked up an undeniable twang in her voice. She’d noticed that folks in small towns like these generally seemed to open up to you a little more if you didn’t seem like a transplant from the big city.

 “Miss Ellis.” The assistant’s smile broadened. “If you would like to follow me, we’ll get you in your first class in no time.”

She picked up her rucksack, in all its beaten-up, dark green nylon glory, and made a valiant attempt to jam the schedule in somewhere amongst her new notebooks, the latest pulp novel from her father’s favorite magazine, and a small assortment of baked goods, all in their own Tupperware tubs. No matter where she’d travelled, cake was always the quickest way to getting into somebody’s good graces. She’d been called a ‘real sweetheart’ earlier by Miss Ellis, for putting a cupcake on the reception desk while she went to get all the paperwork.

Daddy had set up the oven specially yesterday, after grudgingly attending the local Baptist church’s Sunday service together. They had to get to know people in the town, if they were going to come and see Dad’s act. 

His day job was touting magic tricks, culminating in a live show where he demonstrated his talents at escapology. Dad sometimes boasted that he’d been taught by Harry Houdini himself. Jane couldn’t attest to the veracity of that claim, considering her dad would have been roughly eighteen years old when Houdini died, but there was a signed picture of him in a spare pocket of Dad’s wallet. 

However, in these parts of the United States, at least, Dad sometimes had a tough time with his magic show. In one town, they’d been outright chased away, rocks thrown at Dad’s car and screams that they were “doin’ the devil’s work.” Still, he admired the challenge. It was just illusion, sleight of hand… but a truly good magician always found ways of making his tricks seem unbelievable. He’d once gotten a card to stand up inside a glass Cola bottle with just a flick of his finger, and Jane still couldn’t figure out just how he’d gotten it to do that. Naturally, when she wasn’t reading pulp detective novels, Jane would study Dad’s magic books. 

The receptionist walked her through a narrow hallway, lined with lockers. The rust on their hinges gave away their age. “Now, Miss Crocker, between classes, this hall turns into a wild stampede,” Miss Ellis said. “I always say find a friend, or wait a little while longer in class before hustling out of there.”

“Ah, um, duly noted.” Jane replied, still looking around and trying to gather her bearings. “Say, is my first class Home Economics? Or is that next week’s Monday mornin’ class?" 

“Next week,” Miss Ellis replied. “I tell ya, the former principal did a real doozy on this school. Sapped away our budget so much! The Home Ec teacher, Madame Lamere — she’s from Quebec, ya know — well, she only has to come in once a fortnight, that’s how much we can afford to pay her. The PTA and new principal are still sortin’ out the finances from the last guy!”

“Oh.” Not really a vote of confidence in the school’s favor.

On the other hand, Jane had attended worse schools than this — one schoolhouse had had rats audibly scurrying in the walls, and one school in Alabama was filthy, even with a mandate that students would be responsible for cleaning their classrooms every day. So far, this looked like a new build. Maybe twenty or thirty years old at the most.

Miss Ellis continued rambling on. This school had been built upon the foundations of the old schoolhouse, after the town’s population swelled thanks to a factory district being built nearby. Jane tried her best to look interested, as she was taken up two flights of stairs, before finally stopping outside of a door with a frosted glass windowpane.

Rapping twice quickly on the door, Miss Ellis trotted in with Jane, her hands on the new student’s shoulders. The teacher taking the class looked a little irritated, but otherwise allowed the principal’s assistant to make her announcement.

“This is Miss Jane Crocker, y’all. She’s a new student.”

Jane scanned over the students, some of whom were staring quite intently. Others seemed to vaguely recognise her from church yesterday. Others stared on, not interested. 

“I’d like to invite you all in makin’ her feel very welcome here at Devil’s Wharf.” She nudged Jane. “Say somethin’, sweetie.”

“Uh… oh. Hello. I’m Jane,” she said, remembering to put on a slight Louisiana twang in her voice. “Me and my daddy are new in town, so I could really use some new friends.” Making speeches like this had never been her strong suit. “Miss Ellis said this is French class, so I could give people a hand, if they need.”

Well, that was only half a lie. Jane had spent a lot of her childhood in Louisiana, and sometimes Jane would be left with their French Creole neighbours, especially if Daddy had a show to perform. At the age of four, she’d soaked up some of the language like a sponge, baffling her father: _“I am going à l’école, Daddy."_

The teacher made an impressed sound. “Thank you, Miss Ellis. You hear that? Some of y’all can get tutored so we can move on from conjugation. Miss Crocker, sit down.”

Jane waved at the principal’s assistant as she left, going to find an empty desk towards the middle of the room. There was a blond girl beside her who had the most wonderful, sleepy eyes, decked out in perfect make-up and the latest fashion. As Jane passed her by, she wondered if this was the queen bee of the school. The kind of girl who she’d need to impress, if she wasn’t going to be bullied this time around.

Just as Jane got seated and comfortable, a note was flicked onto her desk. On bright pink stationery, no less, from that very same girl.

_ Lunchtime, you’re coming with me. _

Jane blinked, folding the note quickly into her pencil case and shooting a quick nod towards the girl. She was about to lean over and whisper, but was called upon by the French teacher.

“Crocker!”

“Oui…?”

“Donnez-moi un exemple du temps subjonctif.”

The subjunctive tense? Wow. Wasn’t this a little much for a first year high school class? Like some of the finest jazz musicians, Jane had picked up her skills by ear, not through strict teaching methods and notation. She didn’t want to disappoint him, though.

“Il faut que…?” She suggested, based on a quick glance at the page open on her textbook.

“Il faut que… what, Miss Crocker?” He sneered, looking over his round glasses at her. She was stood at her desk, and could feel the heat of twenty students gazing at her. The sooner she got this over with, and didn’t make a fool of herself, the better.

_Il faut que vous arrêtiez traiter moi avec condescendance_ , Jane wanted to say. Instead, she said: “Il faut que nous partions.”

“Bien. Asseyez-vous.” 

A new note was flicked onto her desk.

_ Ooh la la. Very good. _

Jane couldn’t help letting out a short chuckle, looking towards the blonde girl and folding away the new note.

The rest of the class continued in a humdrum manner. The students were required to repeat verb tables and other irregular conjugations. Mr. Jones would then call upon the students with a random sentence to properly conjugate, either out loud or on the chalkboard. Jane yawned into her hand. The one time she’d been enrolled in a private school, the Latin classes had gone very similarly to this. No wonder all her friends there crowed about how ‘deathly boring’ the ancient languages were. They had no chance to really appreciate them.

The first class at Devil’s Wharf High School — on a Monday, no less — was French, with a man who had stuffed himself up with self-importance since studying in Paris, but gotten a job teaching at a high school. Jane wondered how he could stand it, being the sort who probably begged universities to let him teach courses on French literature, only to come back to the same small town he’d probably grown up in.

She wasn’t far off the mark.

* * *

 

When the bell rang, Mr. Jones insisted on the students saying seated until he explicitly said they could be dismissed. It was now eleven o’clock, and according to Jane’s schedule, she and her blonde classmate had an hour of study hall together before lunch.

“Ugh, that class just kills me.” Roxy said after introducing herself, in an accent that warbled between New York and Bostonian. It made Jane like her just a little bit more, in fact — she’d been surprised to hear a voice like that here in the Bible Belt. Maybe Roxy was also a transplant from elsewhere.

Boys seemed to flock towards Roxy, though. As they were walking to the library together, she was asked several times by different suitors if she was available after school, and whether or not she’d been watching the swimming rally later that week.

She rolled her eyes after each boy slinked away in defeat. “So many hicks to deal with, so little time.” When they found a table in the library, Jane organized her books and papers and slipped a cupcake over to her new friend.

“Oh, you’re an angel. Momma didn’t do breakfast today. You a baker’s daughter, Janey?”

“No, a um, showman. He does performances, in all the little theatres that’ll take him, throughout the country." 

“Only got a daddy, huh? I bet you got really pretty looks from your mom.”

Jane flushed a little. “My momma was part Creole and Indian from the Caribbean, and she’s not with us any more. Daddy’s momma was from China.”

“See, I knew there had to be a reason why you were so pretty.” Roxy grinned, tapping her pencil against a homework sheet. “So. You ever read Hamlet?”

“Oh, yeah.” Even though English Literature wasn’t on Jane’s schedule today, she’d still packed everything but the kitchen sink into her rucksack. “Say, you’re not from around here either, are you…?” Jane asked.

“Psh. My daddy moved ‘round army bases so much when I was a kid, but we’re here permanently now. I like the New Yorker accent. Certainly separates me from all these yahoos, ya know? I’m the fashionable girl from the big city. They’re nose-pickin’, unintelligible, slack-jawed Cletuses who get these big, useless farms and ranches from their parents and wanna pump their wives full of babies. Or they go to college to play football because they’re too stupid to get in with their own wits.”

Jane blinked. She certainly wasn’t expecting that out of Roxy. Dad had always taught her to try not to form an opinion of somebody based upon the first impression, and here she was, assuming that Roxy was this vapid popular girl. 

Roxy continued. “In fact, I’m shootin’ for a good college like Columbia or Rockefeller. Maybe Syracuse, if I can’t afford to live in NYC. How about you?”

Oh. Jane certainly hadn’t been expecting that question. College had always seemed so far away — and she had never even worried about it in the first place. Not that Dad had ever discouraged her from pursuing further education, but she wouldn’t be able to see him at all, if he continued his lifestyle of travelling from town to town every eight months.

“It’s four years away… I haven’t considered it. Yet.”

Roxy gasped, almost theatrically. “Then I’m gonna get you on the right path! You’re a smart girl. You speak fluent French, right? That’s the cat’s pyjamas! We girls have gotta get outta doing things  like makin’ babies and sitting at home with dinner in the oven for our husbands. Otherwise we’ll be stuck doing it forever! I wanna live my life.”

Jane was silent for a few moments, nodding her agreement with Roxy. She’d never really had a mother to impose a woman’s role of home-making on her, but baking with Dad had always been a fun bonding experience. Maybe… hmm. Maybe she could run a line of patisseries, or be the local cake decorator in whichever small town she decided to settle in for good.

Roxy, on the other hand, had her biology book out, scribbling a few notes in the margins. “I’m gonna be a lady scientist,” she announced. “Keep that quiet, though, since boys don’t like to hear ‘bout girls that are cleverer than they are.”

“You got them all wrapped around your little finger?” Jane asked, immediately regretting it — if Roxy took that the wrong way, she’d lose the only friend she’d made so far at Devil’s Wharf.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve kissed a few boys in my time,” Roxy giggled. “Always behind their backs. I kiss Johnny and then run off to kiss Andy and Robbie and whoever else wants a piece of me. It’s not like I plan on marrying any of these guys, anyway.” 

“You’re very… confident,” Jane said, smiling awkwardly. “I once had a boy… and he was so, so difficult to talk to about my feelings.” 

Jane didn’t quite know why she felt so able to open up to Roxy about her life, but she hadn’t shown any signs of an untrustworthy nature. At least, not yet. 

“I guess that’s all I can say on the matter, you know?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxy invites herself over to Jane's. Extended meet-cute.

By the time the final school bell rang, Jane and Roxy were walking with linked arms, as if they had been best friends for years. Roxy grinned and waved towards the older boys in their letterman jackets who usually wolf-whistled her way. She had somebody new to hang out with now, after all. 

A boy named Chuck called out: “Hey, Roxy! Who’s the other babe?”

“None of your business.” Roxy chirped back, continuing to walk. Jane shot an apologetic smile his way. She certainly didn’t want to make enemies out of the jocks.

As it turned out, Roxy didn’t have a car — yet. (Though secretly, Jane was half-expecting to see a sugar-pink Cadillac or Dodge in the parking lot.)

They took a short cut, leading down to a secluded lane with verdant trees and bushes almost reaching out onto the paving.

Despite the heat and humidity, Roxy’s arm was unusually warm. Jane’s cheeks had grown pink, and she wasn’t quite sure why. Thankfully, she had grown her hair out a little bit, since Dad couldn’t afford a trip to the barber just yet, and she didn’t trust him with a pair of scissors. Still, it could be worse — Nanna used to just shove a pudding bowl on top of his head once every few months.

The grin never seemed to leave her face. Jane gulped, determined to not show any signs of nerves. Not around this girl. Even as kind as she was, Jane could imagine that Roxy was not somebody whose bad side you wanted to get on.

“I live… um. That’s my street.” Jane waved her spare hand towards the opening in the foliage they had just strolled past.

“Your daddy home yet, Janey?”

“Probably not.”

Roxy raised her eyebrows. “So you get the house all to yourself most nights?”

Oh no. She sounded like she was planning something. A house party, perhaps? Jane had read about one that went disastrously wrong in a magazine. The poor girl’s parents were furious. Though, knowing Dad, he’d probably ask if he could be booked as the night’s entertainment.

“Show me around.” Roxy shook Jane’s arm. “Come on, this is actually a really nice neighbourhood!”

Nice, but rather unkempt and overgrown. The newer houses built for the factory workers clashed with the older, ramshackle buildings with all the southern traditions — large porches, heavy sash windows, and even a swinging bench outside the living room window. Jane lived in one of the latter, where their landlord had reduced the rent slightly to help with the cost of repairs.

She took off her backpack, rootling underneath several empty Tupperware containers. The baked goods had gone over well at school, it seemed. Jane had even had to stop Roxy from taking the last cupcake with strawberry icing and chopped almonds. (She had pouted, then laughed it off as they studied Trig together last period.)

“I _love_ these styles of houses,” Roxy said politely, gesturing for Jane to take her inside. “They’re so southern and gothic and _magical_.”

“Magical?” Jane quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t hear many southerners talkin’ ‘bout magic. ‘Cept for me and my daddy, I guess.”

“Oh, Janey, I ain’t talking about no sleight of hand and misdirection.”

“Stuff the pastor would exorcise you for?” A pause. “The occult?”

Roxy burst into laughter as Jane got the keys through the door. “God would wanna strike me down for reading tarot cards and burning sage? Naw, I’ve got some witch magazines. I’ll show you what real wizardry’s about.”

Jane almost couldn’t believe how many secrets Roxy was trusting her with. If the local boys knew she was an intelligent prospective scientist with a penchant for performing arcane rituals, well… there went her southern marriage prospects. In fact, Roxy herself looked a little worried — this new girl could ruin her reputation overnight if she just got some proof to confirm people’s suspicions. 

As they opened the door, Jane rolled her eyes to reassure Roxy. “I’ve seen Santeria and voodoo growin’ up round these parts, done by people you’d never expect practicing it. Nothin’ much surprises me.”

The house’s interior was still a little dusty. As meticulous as Dad was, he’d been too busy getting their paperwork in order for their new home and booking stages for his shows. A note posted on the icebox announced that he was currently at the printer’s, and wouldn’t be back until supper.

Roxy found herself a seat at the breakfast table, sweeping off the dust with her arm.

“Would you like a soda?” Jane asked.

“Y’all ain’t got any more baked goods?” Roxy asked, the southern twang creeping back into her voice. No need to act any more — she was perfectly at ease with Jane.

“I could rustle somethin’ up, or you could have some chocolate cake from yesterday.”

“Chocolate cake _and_ soda? Janey, I’m gonna be piling on the pounds with you as my friend.”

Jane’s cheeks flushed — she was just glad that she was still stood in front of the icebox and cupboards. Roxy had her chin perched atop her hands, lips curled into a fox-like smile.

“Is that a yes, or a no?” Jane asked, still not daring to turn around lest Roxy see the rouge on her cheeks.

“Yes. You only live once, after all.”


	3. Chapter 3

Jane's first week at Devil's Wharf had gone off without a hitch. She'd been lucky enough to get a best friend right from her first day, and there wasn't  _anything_ fake or mean about Roxy.

Well, except for lying to the boys at school, keeping her strange little secrets, and insisting on speaking like some New York stereotype from the picture shows... But other than that, Jane felt incredibly blessed. Not only that, but Roxy was beautiful to look at, and had promised to teach Jane about the right kind of make-up to use, and the hair products, so that the two of them could go out to a show together at the weekend. ("Or maybe a  _bar_ ," Roxy winked.) Jane, who had never learned how to powder her face or rouge her cheeks, and who generally kept her thick black hair up in its usual cropped style, was endlessly grateful.

There was, admittedly, the fear that Roxy was some kind of bully. Pretending to be her friend just to get all of her incriminating secrets and then stab her in the back, leaving Jane friendless and scandalised among the student body. But those fears were assuaged the very next day, when Roxy took the time to introduce Jane to all of her friends, and even called Jane on the telephone after school when she had had to go home early after a dizzy spell.

The rest of the week was fairly humdrum, filled with classes and lots of homework. Dad had now sorted out all of the particulars of living in Devil's Wharf, proudly announcing to Jane that he thought they would be able to actually  _settle_ here. Devil's Wharf had transportation links to Jackson and some of the other larger towns in central Mississippi, and Dad was probably going to be able to afford a new car if he struck it lucky with his magic shows.

(Of course, he had said that when Jane was living with him in Kentucky. And just outside of New Orleans. And in northern Florida. And in Georgia. And in Virginia. She just nodded and humoured his excitement this time around.)

It was Friday afternoon when Jane was pulled by the arm down a different route than they usually took to get home. Roxy had grinned, showing off her perfect teeth when Jane asked where they were going.

Devil's Wharf, despite being a small town, happened to have a fairly decent centre for shopping and cafés and little mom'n'pop diners. There was also the town hall, with imposing, marble white classical-style architecture, and a fairly impressive library just down the street.

"D'you know they loan out records, too?" Roxy asked. Jane was amazed.

Roxy almost had a skip in her step as she brought Jane along with her, down an avenue with neatly-groomed trees and colonial Southern townhouses. Not anything like Jane's home, which was dilapidated and sorely in need of a few repairs -- these places were in perfect condition. The penny dropped when Roxy had taken her up the steps and over the threshold of the porch. This was  _Roxy's_ house. Well, her parents' house, but still! It must have cost a  _fortune_ in upkeep, not to even think of renting or mortgaging the property...

The house was fronted in a pink and white cladding, and had brand new net curtains at every window. Inside the foyer, there were plenty of portraits of a stern, blond man in full Marine uniform, medals emblazoned on his chest, even wearing this uniform to his wedding. Jane felt intimidated, briefly -- if Roxy introduced her to her parents, she would have no idea how to comport herself around a military man. He especially wouldn't be impressed at a girl who lived on the poorer side of town with a single father who performed magic shows.

 


End file.
